


Phone Sex

by Amalveor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Other, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amalveor/pseuds/Amalveor
Summary: From a long-ago prompt on the kink meme which asked for:Literal phone sex: Sherlock and John's phones have sex.This one did get posted at the time but deserves to be here too, because it's terribly silly and a slightly terrifying reminder that we were reading and writing Sherlock fic back in a time when iPhones seemed newfangled and shiny.





	Phone Sex

“Sherlock!” He said, holding tight to his mobile as the other man tried to pluck it from his hands. “What are you doing?”

 

“Your sister is fine. If you spend the next two minutes composing and sending that message it will only prove to be a waste of credit, whereas I have a very important question to ask Lestrade.” He tugged on the phone again and John kept his grip.

 

“Sherlock, no!” John said, trying to sound like his mother did when she was putting her foot down. He wondered briefly whether he should be treating his fully grown flatmate the way his mother had treated him at 8 years old and then remembered who he was dealing with and swatted at the other man’s hand. Thankfully, Sherlock released the top of his phone.

 

“Fine,” he said as he dropped down onto the sofa, folding his legs until his knees were tucked up to his chest. “If you won’t allow me to do it myself, which we both know would take half the time, you’ll have to send it for me. You have Lestrade’s number, I presume?”

 

“Of course,” John said automatically before he remembered that he had vowed not to put up with this anymore. “But I’m not texting him for you. Find your own phone for once.”

 

Sherlock was, as usual, completely undeterred by his lack of cooperation. “You know,” he said, calmly, “the longer you keep up this ridiculous protest, the longer an innocent man will be held for a crime he did not commit. I suggest, for his sake, you let me send a message.”

 

John set his face into his sternest expression. “Find your own phone, Sherlock,” he said firmly and went back to typing his own message to Harry, deliberately ignoring his flatmate as he rolled his eyes at him from across the room.

 

“I might never find it, you know,” Sherlock said, and his voice had taken on the tone he used when he was trying to extract information from grieving widows. “What if I’m in danger and I can’t contact you to help me? Anything could happen…”

 

John didn’t even take his eyes from the screen. “Last week you deduced the location of a dead man’s EpiPen in three tons of rubbish before you even saw the bin bags; I’m sure you’ll manage to find your phone in the flat.”

 

“I have looked…” Sherlock said piteously.

 

Ten minutes later, John completed a thorough search of their living room by reaching behind Sherlock, who hadn’t moved to help in the hunt, and pulling his phone from behind the sofa cushion.

 

“There!” he said, perhaps a little too triumphantly.

 

Sherlock reached for the phone and John pulled it out of his reach. “No,” he said sternly. “You’re not having this back until we’ve found somewhere safe for you to put it when you’re not using it.”

 

The other man sighed heavily and reached out again. “I promise to keep it in my pocket at all times and not to bother you if I lose it,” he said with feigned sweetness.

 

“Not good enough,” John said, his jaw and mind set. “Right,” he said, pulling a small bowl from where it was jammed sideways between two volumes on the bookshelf. It was made of coloured glass and empty but for a smudge of black stickiness along the rim. He ran his finger along it and determined that it probably wasn’t a particularly dangerous substance. “When you’re not using it, and it’s not in your pocket, you can keep your phone in here. When I find it lying carelessly around the flat, I can put it in here. Alright?” He set it down on the coffee table, and, by way of demonstration, put Sherlock’s phone carefully down into it. He took his own phone out of his pocket and put it in the bowl for good measure, just in case the added demonstration would help his flatmate understand.

 

Smirking, Sherlock snatched John’s phone from the bowl and immediately started tapping away on the keys.

 

“Fine,” John muttered with a sigh, “that’s fine. Just, put it back when you’re done,” he added and went to put the kettle on.

 

Although neither of the men in the room where aware of it, in those brief seconds before Sherlock had put his hand into the bowl and removed the small silver phone, two things had happened. Firstly, the small silver phone had felt the unpleasant clunk of cold glass against its fascia and determined grumpily to make an effort to hold down its already slightly unresponsive ‘t’ key to irritate its owner because, quite frankly, it was getting sick of being treated this way. Secondly, it had fallen in love.

 

The phone it had slid into place next to, before it was rudely removed from the bowl once more, was sleek and dark with a beautiful leather coated back case. It couldn’t see the other phone’s front but it could imagine the large screen and the clear resolution that came with such a back case. The silver phone’s gaze lingered on the shiny silver of button that detached the black phone’s cover even as it was pulled from the bowl. It decided, without even seeing the fascia of the other phone, that it was in love and it would see the other phone again, even if it had to leap from its owner’s pockets to do so.

 

In actual fact, it wasn’t long before the two phones were reunited. The following evening, the silver phone was sat snug and warm in its owner’s pocket before it was pulled out and placed into the same cold glass bowl as before. It had begun to complain quietly to itself before it remembered the happenings of the day before, and the last time it had been in the bowl. It spent a few lonely moments quietly hoping for the lovely black phone to arrive when a hand appeared above the bowl, the black phone held between its fingers.

 

The hand placed the phone carefully down so they were once again lying side by side in the bowl and this time, the black phone was facing upwards. It was stunning, beautiful, everything the silver phone had hoped and known it would be. Somewhere in the distance, the silver phone heard the occupants of the flat, the two humans, leave by the front door. It barely noticed however, it was so caught up with staring at the black phone.

 

They had lain in silence for a few moments, the silver phone wondering when it would be appropriate to strike up a conversation when its bowlmate began to speak suddenly.

 

“I should stop trying to hold that key down if I were you, it must be terribly annoying for your owner,” it said primly.

 

The silver phone had definitely not been expecting this as a conversation opener and spluttered as it replied. “But I- it’s not my fault, I’m injured, I-“

 

“You took a knock to your left side several weeks ago and since then you have been experiencing a lack of functioning in that key. It is not, however, as a result of physical injury but rather the resentment you feel at having been dropped.”

 

“What?” The silver phone wasn’t sure whether it was offended, or amazed. It decided to say nothing. The silence dragged on and the silver phone began to feel a little uncomfortable as well as a little stupid for wasting what might be its only opportunity to lie next to such a beautiful phone.

 

It cleared its throat. Or, at least, performed the phone equivalent of clearing its throat which was to make a noise not unlike the gentle pop of a received email notification; the sort of noise that would cause its owner to pull it from his pocket, shake his head briefly and wonder if he was finally going mad.

 

“Where do you think they’ve gone?” It said, finally unable to stand the silence no longer. “Why did they leave us here?”

 

“They’ve gone for Chinese,” the black phone replied precisely. “They have no need for us, as they are going together and are the only people they might wish to contact between here and the shop. They are walking rather than ordering takeaway because the phone line it notoriously busy on a Friday night and it is almost always quicker to pick your food up.”

 

“You can understand what they say?” The silver phone asked in astonishment.

 

“Of course not,” said the black phone, because of course, it couldn’t. Technology communicates in very different ways to humans or in fact, to any living creature. They are able to understand a few of each other’s words. For instance, a phone may understand ‘call Jenny Sinclair’, but not ‘it’s a terribly nice day today, I think I’m going to take the dog for a walk’ in the same way that a human may understand the universal ‘clunk’ of ‘oh dear, something’s gone terribly wrong’ from a computer, but not the tiny whirs and whispers of its processor.

 

Several years ago, a young man called Steve had made it his ambition to understand the hidden language of technology. It had all been going terribly well until one day when he misunderstood a phone’s complaint about a terrible itch behind its internal clock chip to mean ‘what every phone would really like is to be sleek, thin, terribly overpriced and have almost no buttons at all.’ A few years later, the iPhone was born and, while this was terribly good news for Steve and the world of smart phones in general, it was very bad news for the phone with the incessant itch behind its internal clock chip.

 

“I merely used the available data to deduce our owners’ destination.” the black phone said, by way of explanation for its knowledge.

 

“Well in that case, that…” began the silver phone, wondering itself quite what it was going to say. “That was amazing,” it finished.

 

“Do you think so?” the black phone said, pleased.

 

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary.”

 

The black phone made a small noise somewhere between amused and delighted. “That’s not normally what things say.”

 

“What do things normally say?” the silver phone asked, genuinely interested.

 

“Piss off.”

 

The silver phone could only laugh at this, and after a moment, apparently spent working out whether the silver phone was laughing at or with it, the black phone joined in.

____

 

The next day, the black phone was already in the bowl when the silver phone joined it. Its owner put it down so that it was half lying on top of the black phone, screens pressed together and it muttered embarrassed apologies as it slid off the other phone.

 

“Is that a capacitive touch screen?” the black phone asked. It sounded slightly odd, as if it were just saying something to fill the awkwardness.

 

The silver phone did not have a capacitive touch screen. But, in the same way that a human might say, ‘yes, that is my porche’ when another attractive human saw a particularly nice car parked outside, the silver phone said, “yes, yes it is.”

 

“Hmm…” the black phone said as it regained its composure, “I would have thought you were too old a model.”

 

The silver phone was caught between offended at being called old and embarrassed at being caught out. It should have known better really. “Well, I suppose I might have got it wrong. I’m not certain.”

 

“Hmm…” the black phone said again and then, “hmm,” in a slightly different tone, as if it had figured something out. “Interesting…” it said, as if its ‘I’ve just figured something out’ tone had perhaps not been clear enough.

 

“What is?” the silver phone asked, “what’s interesting?”

 

“Nothing,” it said with a devious smile. The silver phone might have been upset at being left out of this information, but the black phone looked so undeniably stunning when it smiled like that.

 

“Right then, well…” the silver phone said. “Had a good day?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I managed to solve a case before my owner. Of course, I couldn’t alert him to the fact, but he does always get there in the end so I wasn’t overly concerned. A little boy kidnapped, six years old, blood stains left on the floor. Kidnappers were demanding all the parents savings and telling them not to go to the police. Luckily, the father new my owner- obviously not the police.

 

“The blood was not the boy’s blood. That was fair enough- perhaps they had wanted to frighten the parents without the effort of hurting the boy. That wasn’t conclusive in itself, but when we noticed that several of the child’s toys were missing. Well, a kidnapper does not bother with toys.

 

“The mother had done the kidnapping. Wanted to make sure she had all the family’s funds as she was planning to leave the father and assumed, naturally, that a divorce would only award her half of everything they had.”

 

“Amazing,” the silver phone said. “Really, very amazing. I uh… I mostly sat in a pocket all day. Was used to tell the time every now and then, but that’s it really.”

 

“I tried to give the telly some advice about its aerial problems, but of course it wasn’t a bit interested.”

 

“Well, that was a bit rude of it, wasn’t it?”

 

“Hmm…”

____

 

It was early afternoon the next time the silver phone was put in the bowl. It was in a slightly different location this time, moved to the other end of the coffee table and for a moment, the silver phone wondered if they had been moved because the black phone had had an argument with the television. Which was of course a ridiculous notion as phones had almost no way of moving bowls all by themselves. It was possible that the owner of the black phone, if anywhere near as clever as the black phone thought him to be, had deduced that phone and telly had argued but this was of course, an even more ridiculous notion and he soon stopped thinking about it.

 

“Oh, there you are,” the black phone said as the other phone settled down beside it, feeling a surge of emotion that the black phone had been waiting for it.

 

“How are you?” it asked politely, leaning at an angle on the edge of the bowl, so it could look down at the black phone better.

 

“Terrible. It was so dull in here by myself, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

 

After this, many other meetings followed. The silver phone admired the black phone quietly and listened to the many interesting things it had to say. Sometimes they talked about their owners, other times they tried to determine what the sticky smudge along the rim of their bowl was. The silver phone was pretty sure that the black phone had already worked this out and was humouring it by playing along, but it didn’t really mind. Sometimes the black phone wouldn’t talk to the silver phone at all. It would ask all the sensible questions. Was it feeling alright? Was it running low on battery? But the black phone wouldn’t reply, wouldn’t say a thing and the silver phone eventually determined that the black phone was just like that. In fact, it thought it liked it better for being a bit different.

 

“I think perhaps it is time to share with you some of the observations I have made,” the black phone announced one evening in its usual different fashion, when their owners had departed for bed and left them in their bowl once more.

 

“Oh?” the silver phone asked, quite unsure where this was going.

 

“Yes,” it said. “You see, I have observed several things about you. Firstly, you try your best to impress me- you go out of your way to, as a matter of fact. Secondly, your processor speed increases when I get closer, as does the heat of your battery.”

 

“Well… I, uh…” it wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this.

 

“I don’t mind,” the other phone said, quite matter-of-factly.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I don’t mind that you’re attracted to me.”

 

It is utterly impossible for a phone to blush but if it hadn’t been, the silver phone would have done just that. “Well,” it said, clearing it’s throat. “That’s… good then, isn’t it?”

 

“In fact,” the black phone continued, “I think I’m rather fond of the idea.”

 

There is very little information available on phone seduction and the subsequent acts that follow. Even the internet, which holds information from the very useful instructions on ‘how to boil an egg’ to the less useful debates on whether or not the technical term for a whales penis is indeed a ‘dork’, did not have a great deal of information on the subject. So it was rather lucky that the silver phone had been around a bit and learnt a great deal on the topic of intimate relations between phones.

 

Hearing the black phone’s announcement, the silver phone took a few seconds to process it, running the words through its circuitry a few times, just to check it had got the gist of it right. It had once misinterpreted the friendliness of a dainty Motorola as romantic advances and it didn’t want to repeat that mistake- it made its casing twinge with remembered pain just thinking about it.

 

When it was sure it had indeed got the idea right, it scooted quickly towards the other phone, and bumped their charging ports gently, almost chastely together. The black phone deepened the kiss, pushing firmly back against the other. It slid a little down the glass to press its body to its bowlmate's and the silver phone couldn't help the slight vibration that escaped it at the contact. The black phone made a sound against it, as if in response, and nuzzled at the silver phone’s screen, moving closer still.

 

____

 

John took the last bite of the toast he was holding, brushing at the crumbs that had fallen onto his shirt as he’d eaten. He was going to be terribly late for work. Again. He retrieved his jacket from the hook, patting the pocket to check for the sound of keys and took his phone from the bowl on the coffee table. He looked briefly down at the screen, just to check the time once more before he left- still terribly late- and found 7 unread messages from Sherlock. He opened the first, looked at it and blinked. He looked around at the flat just in case he had been transported to some alternate dimension, decided he probably hadn’t and looked back at the screen. He blinked again.

 

“Sherlock!” He shouted in the direction of his flatmate’s room, his voice sounding a little high and strained. “Sherlock, if these texts really are from you, I think we might need to have a talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Back in the day, I saved up and bought myself the same Blackberry as Sherlock. Product placement works, folks! It didn't last long before I, like Sherlock, upgraded to an iPhone but I did keep the Blackberry as a backup phone (with that faux-leather back it really is too sexy to throw away).


End file.
